


To the Breaking Point

by Anonymous



Category: Animaniacs
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Isolation, Kidnapping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Siblings, Psychological Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27843925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Yakko Warner is abruptly kidnapped without a trace, no-one knows what to make of it. Least of all Yakko himself, who now has to deal with being all alone except for a cold-voiced kidnapper who seems to want nothing more than watch him fall apart. Can Wakko and Dot rescue him before it's too late?
Relationships: Dot Warner & Wakko Warner & Yakko Warner
Comments: 130
Kudos: 274
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Prologue

"We are joined by Nora Rita Norita, CEO of the Warner Brothers studio, to discuss the latest social media controversy to sweep across the nation."

The camera panned to show Ms. Norita, sharply dressed and striding down a corridor away from the reporter. The mike caught the reporter's sigh before she desperately jogged after the powerwalking executive.

"Ms. Norita! A word, please."

The CEO glanced over her shoulder for approximately eighth of a second. "Who are you? I have a meeting scheduled for three minutes and forty-nine seconds from now."

"Kate Gabbler of the CNX news conglomerate. I won't take much of your time, Ms. Norita."

"Ms. Gabbler? Didn't you come here to interview the Warners? I recall signing off on that."

"Oh, yes. Before that, however, I would love to have your input on the recent avalanche of complaints levied upon the studio regarding its treatment of its cartoon stars. Over six thousand formal complaints have been lodged over just this past week—"

The CEO cut her short. "If you had investigated the matter beforehand, you would know that one thousand and five hundred of those complaints were about the gooseberry jam used in the donuts served in the studio's green rooms."

The reporters frown was audible in her voice. "And the remaining four thousand—?"

"Five hundred were about insufficient frosting on those same donuts, and the next five hundred about the taste of the frosting when it was included. Fifty more demanded the introduction of donuts flavored like sardine pizza." The CEO's eyes were cutting. "You may have noticed a certain pattern emerging."

"I see."

"Our legal team is holding a press conference addressing the controversy at three sharp. We have already banned Wakko Warner from lodging complaints for the foreseeable future." The CEO waved at the reporter as though trying to swat away a fly. Which was quite silly. Nora Rita Norita had never ignored a chance to squash a fly in her life. "In any case, I can assure you the controversy is nothing but hot air. Our toon stars live in what would be luxury even by human standards."

The reporter slowed down, then realised her error and quickly hastened her pace to keep up. "And those are... different from toon standards?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" The CEO glanced at her phone with a sigh of irritation, then gestured hat the reporter keep walking after her. "Of course there is a difference. Professor W. A. Thokum introduced the theory of relative zaniness as early as in the fifties. What backwater college did you graduate from?"

The reporter glanced sheepishly in the direction of her cameraman before continuing. "And what does the theory of relative zaniness suggest?"

"In very brief — my next meeting begins in one minute and twenty-two seconds — the zanier the toon, the less they need basic creature comforts to survive, to the point where they may become practically immortal. They may want food and drink, but lacking them will cause no permanent damage to neither body nor psyche. It is the same with overindulgence: a rail-thin toon will return to being just that soon after gorging a truck of Easter eggs, to name an example from the recent past." 

The reporter nodded.

"It is the same with any other deprivation a zany toon may suffer, from lack of sleep to isolation. They will always bounce back. Take the Warners, for instance. Spending 85 years alone in the water tower has caused them no harm whatever. If anything, they are zanier than ever."

The reporter digested the comment for a moment before coming up with a further question. "Of course, the Warner siblings would never have been entirely isolated since they had each other. Are you sure—"

"I must go to my meeting now." And without so much as a goodbye, the CEO launched herself through the doors (and presumably at the board of directors), perfectly poised all the while.

The reporter sighed, then signed at the cameraman to quit filming. "Did you get all that, Hol? From a good angle? I don't mean to hassle you, but I know you're new to this and with your height—"

"Oh, I got it. I got it all."

"That's great news." The reporter pushed her hair behind her ear. She felt a shudder run through her but couldn't explain why. "What do you make of that zaniness theory? I assume toons have a lot to say about it."

"There is some truth to it, Kate, but only some. The physical component is valid enough, but just because toon minds are different doesn't mean they can never be broken. I could tell you stories all day about what happens when the zaniness runs out."

Kate shook her head. "I'll take your word for it for now." She tried to smile. "Want to go grab some coffee before we meet the Warners? My treat. I have this sudden hankering for donuts..."


	2. And So We Find Ourselves in the Dark

Yakko woke up feeling like he had been struck by every single anvil he had ever used over his career.

He lay still, waiting for the stars to stop circling above him. The surface he was on felt like concrete. At least it wasn't abstract, haha.

Once he felt better, he sat up and realised that either he had misplaced his eyes or he was immersed in pitch blackness. Or maybe he was wearing a bag on his head like in that one cartoon from 1933. What had that one been called? _Warehouse Warners?_ Good times.

There was no bag. And his eyes felt like they were where they were supposed to be as well. He felt around himself, but found nothing but more concrete.

"Wakko? Dot? Hello?"

No response. Immediately, Yakko began to feel less than whole, but he couldn't let it bother him. Panicking was only useful when there was someone around to laugh at it, and it appeared that he was entirely alone.

Just as he thought that, a light came to life somewhere high above. A single red LED, not enough to illuminate so much as the backside of a mosquito, but it did at least resemble a camera light enough to remind Yakko of good old time.

"Helloooo!" He waved as cheerfully as he could. His throat felt all kinds of itchy and scratchy. He was starting to regret not finishing the glass of soda that—

Hold on. That was weird. Someone had offered him a glass, and very recently at that. But why couldn't he remember who and where?

As he mulled it over, trying to piece together concrete memories from a jumble of shadowy thoughts, a noise that sounded a lot like someone clearing their throat echoed from above.

"Are you done with your beauty sleep?" 

The tinny voice sounded like it came from an ancient speaker. Even with the quality issues it was deep and poisonous, like the voice of an actor who has made a career playing demons. It wasn't the voice of Yakko recognized, at any rate.

He stood up, trying to see the speaker. "Uhhhh, you may wanna get your throat looked at. It sounds like you have a whole lotta evil stuck in there."

"How witty we are. Clearly you don't yet comprehend the seriousness of your circumstances, Yakko Warner."

Yakko tilted his head. Being addressed by name like that meant he really was almost certainly alone. That was nine tenths good: his memories were still a mess, but he vaguely remembered being alone the previous time he had been awake. And that meant that wherever he was, Wakko and Dot were safe. Probably.

Of course, his "serious circumstances" probably weren't that either.

"So let me get this straight." He summoned a monocle and a bubble pipe for a better detective impression. Or at least tried to. Neither materialized. Which was... pretty worrying, actually, but he kept going. "You've kidnapped me and stuffed me in what smells like an old potato storage because...." He snapped his fingers. "Because you're an aspiring comedian who wants an honest critique on their new stand-up routine!"

"...Yes." To say the voice was frosty was like saying the Antarctic was somewhat cool. "I believe you have solved the case."

"Hooray!" Yakko clapped his hands. The echoes sounded hollow without two other pairs of hands clapping alongside his. "What do I win?"

There was no response. The red light blinked out.

"Hello?" When the silence continued, Yakko shrugged theatrically at no-one in particular. "Guess I won some peace and quiet."

He looked at darkness. The rules of zany toon comedy meant that as long as it was funny enough, he and his sibs could warp themselves out of just about any scrape. Two problems. One, he would still need to know _where_ he was going before he could do it, and he hadn't the first clue.

Two, none of this was actually very funny. 

He tried summoning a few more objects. Anvils and mallets and custard pies all remained stubbornly somewhere that wasn't his hand.

Oh well. He'd make do. He still had his gift for gab to make things zanier. Once the kidnapper came back, anyway.

First, he needed to figure out the lay of the land. He stumbled around in the dark, finding concrete walls. The echoes made it sound like the ceiling was even higher than the red light had been. An old silo? Nope, his hands found a corner. 

That was all he found. There was nothing in the room but himself.

He was tapping the wall in search of bulldozable points when the speaker began to crackle again. This time, the entire room came awash with red light, revealing a bare, rectangular room, and a ceiling at least twenty-five feet above. Close to the ceiling Yakko saw both a speaker and camera, and what he assumed was a microphone.

"Are you prepared to behave like a good little hellspawn?" If possible, the kidnapper's voice sounded even more malevolent than before.

Yakko shrugged and smiled. "Depends. Are you prepared to dance, dance, dance the night away?"

"I see you haven't changed one bit." This time, the voice didn't sound frosty. It sounded almost gratified. "For your own sake, I suggest that for the first time in your life, you sit down and listen." 

Yakko mimed a yawn, but he kept his ears perked. This could lead to some clues.

Suddenly, the voice broke into a low chuckle. It sounded entirely artificial, to the point where Yakko was certain it wasn't the kidnapper's natural laugh, but it was sinister enough to make every hair on his body stand on end. Seven out of ten. Maybe even eight.

"I know what you're thinking, Yakko Warner. I too know how this usually goes. I'm busy gloating over how hopelessly trapped you are when you suddenly appear behind me, there's a musical sting as the mallets come out, cue laughter and applause. Ha. Ha. Ha."

A very spooky eight.

"Yes, I know the power of zaniness first-hand," the voice continued. "But you by yourself are not all that zany without your siblings around, now are you?"

There was an awkward silence. Yakko assumed the kidnapper had briefly looked aside and only now saw him balancing upside down on his ears, pretending to ride an invisible bicycle.

"...Yes, I know. You are obnoxious on your lonesome as well. But it won't make a difference. I'm not a fool, Warner. No toon, no matter how zany, is getting in or out of that cell except through the door."

"There's a door?" Yakko scanned the outlines on the wall. No matter how he searched, he could see nothing resembling either a handle or hinges. "And here I thought you'd built this room around me from scratch. I demand a refund!"

The kidnapper very pronouncedly did not laugh. Yakko felt himself shrinking just a little bit. 

"Your smart aleck act is neither witty nor amusing. Listen to me silently or I will leave."

"Oh no, please don't." Yakko batted his eyelashes even knowing his captor was unlikely to see such a minute detail from a distance. Showmanship and all that. "I can't get enough of your ominous threats."

The light immediately switched off. The red dot of the camera followed soon after. Yakko blew a loud kiss after it.

He leaned against the wall, lost in thought. So, being trapped was back on the, and his captor didn't seem to have much of a sense of humour. Nor had they explained why they were holding him hostage. Money? Fame? Some kind of weird dare? Who knew?

He couldn't bring himself to worry too much, except for one thing. Two things, actually. Already this was more time than he had spent without either Wakko or Dot or both by his side in over twenty years. How were they? _Where_ were they? Hopefully safely home in their water tower, but how could Yakko tell?

Well. No use crying about it. The kidnapper would come back, and once he knew what this was about he'd figure out how to get out. Until then, he could practise the song he meant to put up on his brand-new Youtube channel. All the words in the English language in reverse.

The echoes of his Zs were swallowed up by the darkness.


	3. Good Morning, Everybody!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay: unexpected RL circumstances happened. Gonna get back on track ASAP!

Wakko's breakfast sandwich was a work of art. Assuming works of art could include mackerel, onion rings, and what Dot thought looked suspiciously like spearmint toothpaste.

Wakko unhinged his jaw and devoured the entire thing in a single gulp. He smacked his lips in what looked like rapturous delight.

Dot made fake gagging noises. "Diiisgusting!"

"It's really good!" Wakko licked his plate clean, then beamed at her across the table. "Want one? There should be enough ingredients for seconds."

"I'll pass." Dot concentrated on her cereal and apple juice as Wakko reached for the bread basket and cheerfully began constructing another sandwich monstrosity. He had devised a new type of sandwich each Thursday for two months now for his Instagram account, each more demented than the other. Usually, she and Yakko helped him name them.

But not that Thursday. She put her glass down and leaned against the table. "Yakko's interview is taking a really long time."

"Yeah." Wakko held his tongue in the middle of his mouth as he focused on getting the onion rings on top of the first of five kinds of cheese in just the right angle. "But it hasn't been as long as mine was yet." 

"I know." Dot had gotten dolled up on five mornings in a row only to find out his brother was still in the studio. Not that it had been a waste. She too had an Instagram account to maintain, and the glow-up pics had been _radiant_. "What exactly did you tell her for it to take so long?"

"Oh, that. I re-enacted all of our old films to her."

"All of them?"

"Yeah, all of them. It was kinda difficult since I had to play you two as well. I'd have to do stuff like strike with a mallet and then get hit by it at the same time." He shrugged. "The reporter lady was really keen on it though. That's probably why she and the cameraman gave me all the snacks as thanks." He pointed over his shoulder at the veritable mountain of chips, candy, bags of nuts, and what looked like an entire crate of cookies piled up next to the bunk bed. Already the booty was only half of what it had been when Wakko had first hauled it into the tower in a comically oversized burlap sack.

Dot preened. "I asked her to donate money to a charity fighting for toon rights instead." As opposed to Wakko's six days and what was now three for Yakko, her interview had only taken two and a half hours. It had been a blast. The reporter had been perfectly happy to let Dot talk and ask intelligent questions about both the merits of equal-opportunity slapstick comedy and her new indie lipstick line. A lipstick like she still hadn't locked in a name for. Sparklicles? Cutiefiers? Maybe Yakko would have some ideas once he got back.

She grabbed her spoon only to discover she was no longer hungry. She put it back down. "Do you think he's re-enacting all of our shorts too?" 

"Maybe they wanted him to sing a really long song." Wakko's ears drooped. "No-one ever asks me for a song."

"Nobody asks me either. I just sing anyway until they applaud." Dot's eyes began to sparkle. "We should start our own music duo! I can bring the talent and the marketable face, and you can bring your animalistic drumming and avant garde reputation."

"I do have those," Wakko agreed, but Dot could tell his heart wasn't in the conversation. He kept eyeing the door as if he was expecting someone to burst into the water tower at any moment. No, scratch that. He was hoping for it. It was even distracting him from his sandwich-making.

It was that last part that made up Dot's mind. She leapt off her chair and grabbed Wakko's sleeve. "Come on! Let's go to the studio and see what the big holdup is."

"'Kay." Wakko paused only to swipe the half-completed sandwich off the plate and into the hem of his shirt before following Dot to the door. "Wanna take the bus?"

Dot nodded. "The driver's seat or the roof?"

"Ooh, the roof!"

They laughed as they hopped down to ground level. Dot was relieved to discover she didn't have to fake it. Even her appetite was back: the disassembled remnants of Wakko's mutant sandwich were almost beginning to look edible. Almost.

* * *

Back in the water tower, the only sound left came from the television, neglected and turned so low it was practically mute. As the two Warners ran around and finally out of the movie lot, the program switched from an ad hawking a blender designed exclusively for beating eggs to a news bulletin.

"In breaking news, fellow CNX reporter Kate Gabbler has been declared missing by the police. Following a search triggered by her failure to report back to work, Ms. Gabbler's phone was discovered in the parking lot of an abandoned studio in Burbank at six thirty this morning. Any sightings—"


	4. Q&A

Yakko was halfway through the letter R when the camera light re-appeared like a lone, blushing star.

"Darling!" He memorized the word he was on ("retention") and raised his arms towards the sky. Well, ceiling. "Did ya miss me?"

Frigid silence.

"Not the romantic type? That's fine." He snapped his fingers. "I know, let's talk about plays! I've got a great analysis on the witches from Macbeth that I've been brewing for a while now."

If anything, the silence grew even more frosty.

"Orrrr you could pick the topic. Go on, don't be shy. I'm all ears."

Yakko's zaniness was waning much faster than it should have. He couldn't even magnify the size of his ears to more than half their normal size. He did that, anyway.

And the light was gone.

"Boy, talk about a tough crowd," he said to the darkness. 

The darkness responded by remaining inscrutable.

He was all the way up to "punishment" when the light returned at full force. He blinked upwards and smiled. "Aww, I knew you couldn't stay mad at me."

There was a long pause before the reply. "Now, will you behave?"

Yakko bowed with a flourish. "Anything for you, my friend."

"Don't call me that."

"Sure thing, pal. Buddy. Mate. Compatriot. Comrade—"

And the darkness flooded back in.

"Was it something I said?" Yakko chuckled, even though you weren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes. Somehow, it made the room seem even darker.

He began singing again, then stopped only after a dozen words, feeling like he was choking on the syllables. 

Instead, he sat down on the floor and listened to his stomach's growling. How long had he been there? Long enough to fall asleep twice out of sheer boredom. Definitely long enough to get hungry. His kidnapper giving him food was likely not on the table — especially since there was no table — but he had enough baseline zaniness in him that hunger pangs would never turn fatal, no matter how painful.

Counterpoint: pain equals bad.

It was time to make a choice. Clearly the kidnapper wasn't going to give him the time of day if he didn't play along, which meant not cracking jokes the next time they showed up. Which meant losing even more ground as far as zaniness was concerned. He could try making up for it later by belting out an entire operetta medley or something, but since he already couldn't use any of his usual tricks, he couldn't help but wonder if letting the atmosphere grow more serious would make him vulnerable to real damage.

_You are already vulnerable,_ a quiet voice whispered from the darkness.

Yakko blinked, then shook his head in his best impression of Wakko. Now there was a zany thought. He was Yakko Warner, one of the kookiest toons to ever live. Being locked up for a few days was nothing. After all, he'd had a whole lifetime's worth of practice for that. 

"I've got nothing to worry about," he declared as loudly and boldly as he could to drown out the whispering voice. The words penetrated through the outer layer of the gloom, then faded.

Yes, that was right. Nothing to worry about. Nothing. _Nothing._ And if he didn't feel like singing right then, he could practice his one-man version of Hamlet. That was good, right? Just dandy. He had come up with plenty of gags to make it funny even if Dot wasn't around to translate ol' Shakes' words to the audience. Which didn't exist in his cell anyway.

He was fine.

He has still fine when the red light finally flooded over him again roughly five hundred years after Hamlet's final speech. The reason that he kept quiet was because his throat was a bit sore. Really.

"Well." The kidnapper fell silent for a long while before continuing, slow and calm. "I do believe we may finally be getting somewhere."

"Ooh, like a beach?" Yakko couldn't help himself. Nor could he help the tic of nervous laughter that he swallowed as soon as it threatened to escape his mouth.

The Arctic chill made a comeback. At least the lights stayed on. Yakko stood in place, certain he was going to be abandoned again.

At least five minutes must have ticked by before the kidnapper finally spoke once more. "From here on out, as long as you rein in your obnoxiousness, each time I come to speak with you I will ask you a question. I suggest you answer them to the best of your ability."

Yakko's ears perked up. "Like a trivia night?"

"You are walking on thin ice."

"I guess that means there won't be any prizes."

The lights turned off.

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" Yakko forced out a laugh. Why was he sweating all of a sudden? "I'm listening. Really!"

The lights came back on.

"Very well. I will ask my first question." Another pause. "You always struck me as a dutiful older brother. Where are your siblings now?"

Yakko stared at the camera. Suddenly, he wasn't quite as sure he was fine. "They're at home."

"Are you quite sure about that?"

Yakko shrugged. He hoped the way his hands were shaking wouldn't show through the lens. "Yeah. They're fine."

"Allow me to provide you with some food for thought, then. Either your siblings are safe and sound at home, in which case you aren't half as indispensable to them as you no doubt have thought yourself to be. Or," the voice petered into a low rumble, _"you have already failed them."_

Yakko meant to joke, if only to balance the scales a bit. But he couldn't think of a single funny thing to say.

"You may think about that by yourself for the time being."

"Hey, wait—" But it didn't matter: the lights were already gone and the speaker soundless.

Yakko stared at the absence of sound. Only when his hands began to hurt did he realize he had squeezed his fingers into such tight fists they were digging through his gloves and into the flesh of his palms.

He shook himself loose, even managing to go jelly-like for a moment, but the invisible weight on his shoulders remained. He did his best to push it off. The kidnapper had to just be psyching him out. They wouldn't have gotten Dot and Wakko too, or else they'd be trapped in the same bunker as he was, right? Right.

Better think of other things. He had _always_ struck the kidnapper as something, huh? How far back did this go?

That was as far as his line of thought got before it took a u-turn back to his siblings and lingered there. It still remained there when sleep finally claimed him many lonely hours later.


	5. Interlude: a Word on Toons

Toons don't die.

That's all that needs to be said, really. Toons can be crushed or drowned and then don a robe and a harp or else a pitchfork and be right as rain the following day. And, granted, sometimes toons disappear for good. But that's not quite the same, now is it? It's best not to apply concepts of human mortality to us. After all, no toon is going to die of old age.

In a similar vein, you can't cause permanent damage to a toon. How can you, when we are fluid and bouncy and will melt away the hurt as soon as it stops being amusing? Liquid injuries ready to evaporate at a moment's notice. That's all you get.

That's the truth of it. Really. And if anyone tries telling you otherwise, well, you bet they are no longer welcome in the Toons' Guild's biannual meetings.

For spreading misinformation, I mean. Not for revealing toon secrets.

Don't look at me like that. What, do you have a reason to doubt me? Why, did you bring along a list of toons who have been killed or seriously injured? Didn't think so.

...Oh. You do have a list.

...

Hand it over. _Now._

Toons don't die like humans. Toons don't age like humans. Toons don't get hurt in a way that really matters the way humans do.

Please believe me.

Look, forget we even had this conversation. It's bad enough that Cool Cat blabbed to humans about how zaniness works. Why do you think he got blacklisted for twenty-five years after they found out? Yeah, exactly.

Just play along and let us be zany, yeah? We'll make it worth your while. You like to laugh, right? You're going to guffaw till you can no longer breathe. Or whatever it is that the Warners say.


	6. CSI Burbank

"Hey! Watch it!"

"Who let that kid near the horn?!"

**HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK**

"DON'T PULL THAT!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAA"

The bus lurched to an abrupt halt and ejected Wakko and Dot on the curb at Mach 5. Each landed on their feet and danced pointe to the studio entrance as the bus screeched away.

They then proceeded to crash into one another and landed on the ground.

"Why did you stop?" Dot growled, leaping to her feet and dusting herself off.

"Why did you you keep going?" Wakko shot back. He struggled with his hat and finally managed to yank it free.

"Ugh. Clearly we need Yakko to fix our rhythm. Anyway, he should be—"

Dot's words crashed into a brick wall as she raised her gaze and saw the patrol car with its lights on parked in the middle of the otherwise abandoned lot.

She blinked, once, twice. The patrol car remained real. As did the two police officers, one grilling a passing dog-walker, the other leaning against the car with sleepy eyes so heavily he looked ready to collapse.

She placed a hand on Wakko's chest to stop him from spinning around trying to untangle his sleeves. "Houston? I think we have a problem."

"What kind?" Wakko finally steadied himself enough to see ahead. "Ohhhhh."

They hurried over to the patrol car. There was only one other car in the lot, a battered white thing that had been there during Dot's interview as well. Somehow, it didn't dispel the queasy feeling in her stomach.

Officer Car-Hugger only saw them by the time they were basically standing on his toes. "This ain't a playground, kids. Hop along."

Dot amped up her cuteness. Only by five percent or so, but that was enough to turn her extraordinary cuteness into heart-melting adorability. "Hello, officer. What's going on?"

The officer narrowed his eyes. "Not supposed to reveal that to civilians at this juncture." He sounded like an amateur presenter reading lines off a prompter for the first time.

"We're not civilians!" Dot conjured up a sparkling version of a police badge and flashed it in the man's face. "Officer Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca III of the Burbank Police Department. And this is my trusty police dog, Wakkoroni."

Wakko yipped and wagged his tail.

The officer gave them each a blank look before turning to holler at the other policeman. "Hey, boss! We've got some weird dog officer children here!"

His partner snapped his notebook shut and pinned the walker and his poodle in place with a look before walking over. "I'll take it over from here. You get the rest from this guy."

Dot upped her cuteness by just one notch. "Hello, officer!"

This officer at least had the courtesy to smile. He then looked instead at Wakko, who had immersed himself in his role and was now chasing his tail. He then decided he'd rather speak to Dot after all. "This is a suspected crime scene, kiddos. No trespassing."

The ill feeling which had been lurking inside Dot began writhing. She tamped it down and smiled her 2000 watt smile. "What kind, officer?"

This senior officer was more amenable: he merely shrugged before talking. "Well, it's already on the news. This reporter lady went missing here, see, at least two days ago now. We found her phone here, but basically nothing else."

"And no-one else?"

"And no-one else. Why?"

Wakko had quit his puppy act and now wandered to Dot's side, forehead creased. Dot pulled out the reporter's card. "Our brother was supposed to be with her. She interviewed us earlier."

The officer bend down to peer at the card. He sucked air in through his teeth. "Oh, _great_." He straightened his back and flipped open his notepad. "About your brother, then. Name?"

"Yakko Warner."

"Age?"

"Ninety."

The officer wrote it down, then frowned. "Toon age?"

Wakko strummed a guitar he had found who knew where. Dot ignored him while the officer stared. "Fourteen."

"And he looks like you two?"

Dot nodded. Wakko tossed the guitar aside and nodded vigorously. "Yeah, he's like us. Except he wears pants."

"Gotcha." The officer put his pad away. "We'll ask around for any sightings. Let us know if ya don't hear from him in another twenty-four hours."

"That's it?!" Dot could practically feel her eyes glowing red. "He's been gone for days already!"

The officer flinched. "No need to get hostile, little lady. Yer brother's a toon, right? Toons always bounce back."

Dot didn't feel the least bit bouncy right then. More like seething. She fought to swallow her frustration regardless. It didn't do any good to explain the hidden weaknesses of toons to those not already in the know.

...This time, she really was going to start a toon awareness campaign. As soon as Yakko got back. Code of silence be damned.

The officer watched her simmer down into a more righteous fury, then tried to smile. "And for all ya know, he's already back home. Ya said he's fourteen? Kids that age start to crave their independence. It's not that weird for them to wander off for a few days."

Wakko shook his head as wildly as a dog coming indoors from a downpour. "Not Yakko."

Dot nodded. "He doesn't like being alone."

The officer looked first at Wakko, then back at Dot. Whether he saw the shadows lurking behind the casual words or not, he nodded slowly. "Tell ya what. We'll make this a priority. In the meanwhile, you said Ms. Gabbler interviewed ya as well before her disappearance? We're gonna need to take ya in for questioning."

Wakko's eyes lit up. "Does that mean we get to ride in your cool car?"

The officer blinked. "Yes?"

"With the lights and sirens on?"

The officer looked like he was regretting not going to art school instead. "...Sure."

"Faboo!"

Dot squeezed into the car with the same enthusiastic laughter as her brother, but her heart wasn't in it. Of course Yakko was fine. He'd most likely nailed his interview in a single song and then met an old acquaintance and forgotten about the passage of time. There was no reason to think something terrible had happened just because the interviewer had gone missing and he hadn't hurried back to the water tower.

She kept telling herself that even after the blaring sirens and Wakko's gleeful clapping drowned out most of her thoughts.


	7. Too Real

"You know, funny thing about the dark," Yakko said to the darkness, trying not to shiver, "you can't see anything that rhymes with it while in it. There could be a tiger shark or an amusement park two inches from me and I'd be none the wiser."

The silence encasing him continued to suffocate him.

"No?" He laughed. He couldn't help it. Nor could he help the discordant note of despair in it. "Give me a break, here. It can't all be fresh material after a week of jokes."

 _"I don't think it's been a week yet,"_ said Dot.

 _"I think it's been two,"_ added Wakko.

Yakko pressed his ears flat against the sides of his head and hummed loudly. The voices of his siblings weren't real, no more real than his own laughter was, but he knew that if he let himself listen to them, he'd start to believe in them.

Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

Yakko had never liked being alone. He hadn't been created for it. One day, perhaps, he should lay down on Doctor Scratchansniff's couch and instead of making jokes, actually try to get to the bottom of it. But it had never seemed that important. And right now, with nothing else to do? The last thing he wanted to do was gaze inwards into the abyss behind his eyes.

He removed his hands from his ears. The voices were gone, replaced by perfect silence. Great. He really couldn't get enough of its miserable monotony.

The imaginary Dot had likely been right. It hadn't really been a week, if only because time seemed to have come to a total standstill in his little prison. He had made it to the letter I ("imprisonment") in the song until each new word had felt too ashen to spit out. He had practiced his Shakespeare skit, and five others, and he had been radiant in all of them. He had fallen asleep three further times. Hunger was now a permanent resident in the pit of his stomach. It was no longer growing worse, but it was a constant gnawing reminder. Thirst was a bigger problem. He hated sounding hoarse. He didn't have the hooves for it.

No? Nothing? Well, there's always next time.

He ignored the thirst, ignored all the nothing around him, and tried to picture himself on a brightly-lit stage instead.

"This isn't actually happening," he said so loudly it took the void a few moments to smother the words. "I'm feeling fine. Great. Fantastic. I'm not going to break down just because I have to spend five minutes by myself. That'd be silly. And unrealistic. You know that I'm a huge proponent of realism."

Cold sweat rose to his forehead.

"Yeah, abstraction has its merits. And don't get Wakko started on post-modern theory, haha. In any case, don't get too comfortable. I'm leaving soon. No-one's going to forget that I exist."

 _This time around._  
  
"No-one's going to forget that I exist," he repeated, practically shouting. "People like me. They think I'm funny. They want me around. They wouldn't just—"

He coughed violently as the rest of his declaration stuck to his throat. Seriously, had some gnomes sand-papered his vocal cords when he had last slept?

"Aaaaanyway, I'm really tired now." It wasn't a lie: he was as exhausted as anyone could be after sitting around in a dark room doing nothing for several hours. "I'm gonna to take a nap. Goodnight, everybody!"

He mimed a mighty yawn. He wasn't sure if it actually made things any zanier, but at least it made him feel better. He lay down.

And was immediately blinded by red light.

He rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Even at the best of times, the light had left the room fairly dim. Now it was dazzling. He scrambled to his feet.

Nothing. He basked in the light, waiting.

Still nothing.

"Hello?" He called once the silence refused to break.

More silence. Then, mercifully, the frosty voice. "No jokes?"

Yakko was so relieved to hear a voice that wasn't either his own or one that existed solely between his ears that he broke into a genuine smile. "As many as you want! Wanna try a limerick?"

"I rather prefer hearing none. However, I have another question for you."

"Shoot." Since he couldn't summon props, Yakko settled for fingergunning the camera. He kept smiling. Surely his nervousness couldn't echo high enough for the microphone to catch it.

"Why are you so desperate for attention?"

Yakko dropped his hand. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

So, two problems. First, that wasn't a question he wanted to answer with anything but a joke, and he couldn't think of any. The best he could do was stand in attention and salute the camera, but without a uniform it was barely a visual gag.

Second, he wasn't sure he could answer it truthfully even if he wanted to.

"Is that your response?" The voice finally asked while Yakko was still groping for something intelligent to say. "I should have expected as much. In that case, allow me to provide you with some food for thought."

 _"Could provide us with some actual food, too,"_ Wakko's voice sulked in his ear.

"The truth is," the voice continued. "Nobody ever thought you were particularly funny. Why do you think they were so eager to lock you up?"

Slings and arrows and baseless accusations. Yakko shrugged widely. "We were ahead of our time."

"Perhaps once. But now? Your moment has passed. Your antics have grown stale. What do you have to show for your ninety years? Eighty years spent rotting in a water tower? A brief moment in the spotlight rightly dismissed by most as kiddy nonsense? Don't say another word now," the voice rose just as Yakko was about to interrupt it. "But consider what I am saying."

"And you can consider just how—" But the lights were gone and the speaker already mute. 

In any case, for once in his life, Yakko couldn't think of anything witty to say.

He allowed his legs to go limp. He collapsed against the floor.

 _"He doesn't know what he's talking about,"_ Dot said at once, laying a supportive hand on his shoulder.

 _"Yeah!"_ Wakko agreed. " _We're hilarious! And I want to hear your limerick!"_

"Thanks, you guys." Yakko only managed to whisper. He tried to compensate with his brightest smile.

Those weren't exactly visible in the dark, either. At least not without UV toothpaste.


	8. A Taste of Copper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry about the long delay. I've been really depressed, but I feel better now, and I really want to finish this story! Thanks for all your support until now! <3

"I spy with my little eye something that begins with..." Wakko's brow furrowed in the utmost concentration. "T."

Dot looked around. "Is it... table?"

"Nope!"

"Tacky tie?"

"Nope!"

The officer dropped his pen and buried his head in his hands. "Children, please. This is a serious place for serious interrogations."

"Is it 'tired police officer'?"

"Nope!"

Dot stroked her chin, then snapped her fingers. "I've got it! It's 'time for snacks!'"

"Bingo!" Wakko leapt to stand on the table and vigorously shook Dot's hand.

The officer slammed his hand against the desk, now less 'tired' and more 'thunderous.' "Enough! I thought you were interested in finding your missing brother!"

"Of course we are." Dot stood up on the chair and turned the blinding desklight towards the officer. "But are you?"

The officer sputtered in indignation. "Of course we are!"

"And that's why you interrogated us?"

"Yes!"

"And that's how you found out we know nothing about what happened after we left the studio?"

"Yes!"

"And that's when you decided that we simply _had_ to know something, and you were going to grill it out of us like this was the police station's summer barbecue, even though we have absolutely no reason to lie?"

"See here, miss—"

Dot cleared her throat and accepted the megaphone Wakko helpfully supplied for her. She took a deep breath.

**"WHY ARE YOU ASKING US QUESTIONS WE ALREADY ANSWERED INSTEAD OF LOOKING FOR HIM?!"**

* * *

They were booted out of the interrogation room after that. Quite literally, assuming a dress shoe was as good for the job as a literal boot.

The metal bench they were supposed to sit on to wait wasn't exactly comfortable. Which was why they had gone ahead and replaced it with a plush couch, complete with bouncy springs. Wakko was still bouncing on it, going for more and more elaborate somersaults each time his feet or head hit the cushions. Dot was bouncing too, but only because Wakko's movements made it impossible for her to sit still.

But she wasn't thinking about keeping her zaniness up. Instead, her attention was occupied by the indoor window behind them. Their interrogator had drawn the metal shutters, but when she strained her ears, she could just about hear him and his boss talking loudly.

She turned towards Wakko and pressed a finger to her lips. Wakko stayed obediently silent as she extended her arm to five times its normal length and pried the door further open. There was a slight creak — she really should have oiled the hinges beforehand — but neither of the police officers seemed to have noticed the door was now half an inch ajar. In any case, they kept talking without pause.

"Damn brats. Never work with kids and animals isn't just a showbiz saying."

Wakko's ears perked up. He pulled out a comically oversized wooden mallet and smiled at Dot. 

Though her fingers itched, Dot shook her head. She shushed at Wakko again until he reluctantly put the mallet away.

"Do you think they were telling the truth, Boss?"

"The little puppy was right when she told you they had no reason to lie. Ain't likely this is an inside job, and even if it is, the kids wouldn't be in on it. Is the preliminary search of the studio complete?"

"There wasn't much there. We checked their computers. They had backups for the interviews of the two kids we have here, so that part of their story corroborated. Not a single speck of footage of the third kid. Nothing. Absolutely zippo."

There was a pause. "Any chance it was wiped."

"Yes, Boss. The tech goons say the relevant parts of the hard drive have been Gutmann'd. Whatever the hell that is."

"Any chance of recovery?"

"Next to none."

There was a loud slam which sounded like a fist striking a desk. "That video's our only lead on the kid! Without it this operation's about as useful as a chicken wire submarine."

"Boss..."

"At least with the reporter we can hope to find DNA! How are we supposed to track down someone who leaves behind no material evidence and doesn't even carry a phone?"

"They really should have thought about that before they slashed the toon crime budget."

"You're telling me!"

"At least we don't have to worry about finding this kid chopped into pieces," the younger officer said brightly. "The perks of being a toon."

There was a spate of frosty silence. "You haven't worked much toon crime, have you, son?"

"Just on cases where the toon was the culprit. That's how it usually goes... what's with that look, Boss?"

"Go to the archives and request the folder for the TL-6 incident. Then come back and tell me nothing bad happens to toons."

You can just tell me about it, Boss."

Before Dot could hear more, the door on the opposite side of the corridor opened. A third police officer looked out at Dot and Wakko with a phone in her hand. "Someone from your studio is coming to pick you two up. Would you like a juice box while you wait?"

"Yes please!" Wakko said at once. To an outside perspective, he looked like his usual chipper self, which was probably why the officer smiled and retreated back inside as soon as Dot nodded her assent.

Dot saw things a bit differently. She saw Wakko slumping back, as flabby as if he had transformed into an invertebrate. She perked her ears. The two officers had either moved away or fallen silent. Maybe it was for the best. Even if she was morbidly curious about the TL-6 incident.

"You know," she tilted her head, looking at her big brother who just then seemed more like a little brother. "You don't have to pretend you're happy when you're not."

Wakko nodded, then rested his chin against his chest. He raised his ears. "I do want the juice box, though."

"Me too." Things were already getting too real, too serious, nowhere near zany enough. Juice wouldn't make things more irreverent unless it happened to be squeezed from rainbows, but it would be a pick-me-up. A pick-me-up Dot felt like she actually needed for once. A pick-me-up that would never be necessary under ideal zaniness conditions.

The thought scared her, and led her down a path of scarier thoughts of just what might be happening to Yakko all the while they sat there unable to do nothing.

"I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding," she lied.

"Me too!" Wakko lied back. "Yakko's just waiting to pull a prank on us. We'll go home and he'll be there with a whole speech prepared about what he was up to."

"And we'll listen to it. And then we'll punch him for making us worry." Dot moved closer to Wakko and took his hand. "And then we'll hug him and make him promise that he never makes us worry like this again."

Wakko squeezed her hand. They sat there under the artificial lights for a long time until the third officer came to tell them their ride had arrived. And asked them if they could kindly put the bench back where it had been.


	9. He's All Mad Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for stealing your term, Subtle_Shenanigans, but it was too good not to use.

"So..." Dot raised a teacup filled lemonade to her lips with her pinky held up. The fake jewels of the plastic rings encrusting her fingers glittered in the sunlight. "Where should we travel next?"

Yakko blew bubbles out of his pipe and watched them drift upwards, gleaming and fragile. He thought of grabbing another glazed bun, but decided that the effort of reaching around the ostrich roosting on the table was too much effort. "Somewhere overseas. You know what they say," He pointed his thumb across his shoulder at the mountain of donated citrus fruit, "when life gives you lemons, you make a long sea voyage without fear of scurvy."  
  
"We should go to Rio!" Wakko emerged from underneath the table dressed as a medieval page boy, complete with a less than page boyish flowing headdress, and snatched a scone half submerged beneath the ostrich. "I could finally sing my song about all the states of Brazil! I've been practising it for _months_."

Dot put her cup down and scrunched up her nose. "Wakko, we're supposed to be Victorian."

"And?" Wakko stuffed the scone in his mouth and swallowed it in one satisfied gulp.

"And that's what you're wearing? You couldn't look more out of place if you wore a loincloth."

"I could too!" Wakko's ears drooped. "Why do you have to be so mean?"

"Guys! Guys!" Yakko threw his hands in the air. "It's okay! We're not actually in the 19th century! We're starring in a terribly researched film set in the 19th century!"

Dot and Wakko exchanged looks.

"Does that mean I can microwave these frozen pizzas?" In the blink of an eye, Wakko was teetering underneath a tower of boxes tall and wobbly enough to make the one in Pisa envious.

"And I can add fairy wings to my costume!" And the six shimmering seraphic wings sprouted from Dot's back, complete with a glittering sound effect.

Yakko grinned. "Sure! The zanier, the better!" And it was zany. The air was crackling with it, like they had all become wacky live wires. Even though Yakko practically breathed zaniness, it was beginning to make his skin itch.

Dot must have felt the same, as she straightened up. "So!" She kicked at the tabletop, scaring the ostrich into running away in a flurry of feather, then sent the entire table careening down. It exploded into roses and confetti before it hit the ground. The teapot metamorphosed into a bounty of glass beads, rising up like ocean spray before scattering on the floor in a thousand reverberating clatters. "Ready to give it another go?"

With a dramatic finger snap, she summoned a changing booth and soon re-emerged from it de-winged and carrying a heavy book. With each step she took forward, her surroundings resembled less a tree house and more an idyllic bend in a river.

With a twirl, Yakko switched into Alice's apron dress and striped stockings. "Let's go!"

He dove next to Dot beneath the massive oak tree that sprung up through the remnants of the floorboards and mimicked a yawn of boredom. He lay down on the burgeoning grass.

"I'm late! I'm late!"

This time, Wakko's waistcoat and monocle were period-accurate enough to silence even the most sneering of pedants. And if the massive purple top hat with its sequins and fluffy rabbit ears didn't quite match, Yakko wasn't about to chide his brother for adding more zaniness to the proceedings.

He leapt to his feet and hurried after rabbit-Wakko, slowing down only to dance through the hopscotch grid Wakko hastily doodled in his wake. 

Wakko slipped into the conveniently emerging rabbit hole, complete with neon arrows pointing downwards. Yakko glided onwards, ready to dive.

And slammed against a very solid, very real concrete wall that that hadn't been there half a second before. 

Flat as a poster, he fell backwards and drifted onto his back on the floor. 

Landing hurt too. With a real kind of hurt.

"Owww!" Yakko scrunched his eyes shut. The lights and scenery were gone when he next opened them. Only his sibs remained, glowing and fuzzy in their outlines.

"Wow." Wakko inspected the orange-sized lump rising on Yakko's forehead with academic curiosity. "This must've be the first time Wonderland wasn't zany enough."

"The second time," Dot rebutted. "Haven't the live action D*sney sequel?"

Wakko's jaw dropped. "Ooh! How do say an asterisk out loud?"

By the time Yakko stopped seeing stars, sundry punctuation filled the air as Dot introduced Wakko to the wonders of spoken special characters. Wakko took to them immediately and was soon burping ♧s and ♤s to a beat.

"And a ☆," Dot made vigorous jazz hands, "is even cuter if you tilt your head and smile when you do it."

Wakko mimicked her with glee. "☆!"

They both turned towards Yakko. He had gotten back on his feet and was now inspecting the wall. Sure enough, it was the same wall he had banged his head against for six hours the day before. Was it really layered with some kind of anti-zaniness material? Or was the real problem elsewhere?

"You're not going to get through it by groping it to death," said Dot, interrupting his thoughts.

"Come on!" Wakko bounced in place. "Say ☆ with us!"

Yakko made some half-hearted jazz hands. "*"

"No no no! ☆!" Wakko demonstrated with gusto.

Dot looked more cautious. She gave Yakko's shoulder a friendly nudge. "Try telling us a joke, Yakko."

Yakko cleared his throat. He still felt woozy from the collision, but if that prevented him from cracking a joke, he had ceased to be Yakko Warner.

"Why did the chicken cross the road?" A beat. "Its hoverboard was broken."

Wakko and Dot exchanged looks.

"No?"

"Maaaybe you should try being a little bit funnier?" Dot suggested.

"That's right!" Wakko still wore his standard goofy expression, but his voice was grave. "And you should get funnier fast. It's only going to get harder the longer you're stuck in here."

"It's not too late yet!" Dot agreed. "Make us bust a gut!"

Yakko suddenly felt kinship to cored apples. "I've already told you all the good ones."

His siblings grew fainter, like ghostly images on an ancient VHS tape. And Yakko couldn't stop it. Any more than he could usually keep himself from trying being funny.

Yes, he had told a lot of jokes to the darkness and his halluci-sibs. He had been a one-man stand-up machine, with quip after quip after quip. It hadn't mattered how stale they got. The audience kept laughing.

Only there was no real audience, and no-one was laughing but himself. And now, even he was out of chuckled.

"Traitor."

Yakko startled back to reality — well, augmented reality — and met Dot's serious eyes with what he hoped was a smile. "What do you mean, sis? I haven't betrayed anyone."

"Not you." Dot pointed at the camera. "That one."

"What do you mean?"

Quite abruptly, Dot's pupils swallowed the whites of her eyes. She stared at Yakko with hollow, blank eyes. "Unless you wanna c̵̻̍ỏ̵̢n̴͍͌f̶̧̀e̴̡͝s̴̹̓s̵̻̒ something?"

"That's right!" Yakko whirled around to see Wakko's eyes equally hollowed out, coupled with a deranged smile. "Did you betray someone? Did you betray ų̴̮̌s̷̫̱͉̐͊?"

Yakko shrank back, and when Wakko and Dot continued to advance, fell to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled his ears tight across his head.

When he next opened his eyes, he was alone in the dark.

He let go of his ears and hugged his knees, leaning heavily against the cold concrete wall of his prison cell. Already, he longed to run screaming back to his delusions, but not if you they were going to melt and accuse him of misdeeds he was relatively sure he hadn't committed. 

He had to sort his head out first. To try and make sense of things while he could still tell the difference between reality and fantasy.

Since the Dot who had spoken to him wasn't real, everything she had said had somehow come from within Yakko himself. Therefore, he was the one whose subconscious thought that the kidnapper was some stripe of traitor. But why? Was there anything to it but dream logic?

He thought about it. The only one who had "betrayed" them recently was Doctor Scratchansniff. Not only would the doc never go this far, his accent was way too pronounced to match with the toneless voice that rattled through the speaker increasingly rarely. 

Perhaps his subconscious had meant "traitor" in a more general sense?

"This is boring," Wakko said to his left. He had abandoned his usual body for that of a sunflower, and his face beamed at Yakko from the center of the blossom. "Let's go surprise some butterflies!"

Yakko waved him off. "Maybe later. I need to think"

"It's fun!" Wakko nudged at Yakko's shoulder with his nose and looked up at him with such trusting eyes that Yakko immediately regretted brushing him off. "And maybe we can make it zany, too."

"It's important." Dot re-emerged dressed as a shepherdess, complete with a shepherd's hook festooned with pink tinsil. "If you can't keep yourself zany, what will you have left?"

Wakko nodded vigorously as he re-sculpted his body back into its normal shape. "We don't wanna have to leave you behind!"

A sudden chill ran through Yakko.

He hopped to his feet and hoped his smile didn't look brittle. "Right. Butterflies. Sounds like fun."

And so he ran. And if he could still feel the concrete underneath his paws when traipsing across the flowering meadow, and if his siblings' voices didn't sound quite right, and if he still felt hunger gnawing at him, it wasn't like complaining was going to make things right. He had to hold together to stay zany and escape.

He had to keep at it.

Had to be funny.

Had to pretend Wakko and Dot weren't already far beyond his reach.

Had to.

Had to.

Had t̴̲̐ö̵̦́.̵̜̑


End file.
